The French Detective's Woman (33 page)

CoCo was completely loyal. As were all the Orphans. None of them would ever betray her. Or Sofie, for whom they were all doing this.

Ciara would bet her life on it.

♥♥♥

Jean-Marc called Cheveau first thing Saturday and found out no robbery had been reported in the Marseille area anytime within the last twenty-four hours which even remotely fit Ciara’s MO.

Merde
.

He was so fucking tired. Tired of getting nowhere. Tired of seeing Ciara run circles around him. Most of all, he was tired of having his heart stepped on.

Waking up alone on that train, naked and handcuffed to the sleeping berth, had been the final straw. He needed some time away from this. From her. He had to get his professional objectivity back.

The woman was a thief. Her actions since being released from prison had as much as proven she was planning another robbery. She wasn’t going to change. Not for him. Apparently not for anything.

He’d set aside his feelings and put her away the first time, restoring his reputation and redeeming his professional pride. He’d risked all that by warning his boss she was up to her old tricks again. He’d put his very career in jeopardy again by disobeying Belfort’s orders to leave it alone. He was oh, so tempted to let her pull this stupid job and let someone else have the case---and the fallout.

But that would be giving up. And Jean-Marc may be a lot of things, but a quitter wasn’t one of them. Nor would he trade his integrity for emotional comfort.

He did, however, recognize when a strategy wasn’t working.

So for the entire weekend he went into Zen cop mode and put Ciara Alexander out of his mind. He entrenched himself in his office at
36 Quai des Orfèvres
and caught up on all the other work he should have been doing for the past few weeks. And firmly ignored the urge to drive out to rue Daguerre and sit in his car waiting for a glimpse of her.

In his zeal, he solved two open cases.

On Monday morning Belfort called him into his office to congratulate him.

“Good work, Lacroix. See what happens when you follow orders and devote yourself to solving real crimes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It pleases me you’ve given up your ridiculous notions about that woman,
le Revenant
.”

He bit his tongue and accepted two new case files. Then quickly went back to his office before steam started coming out of his ears.

“Hey,
mec
, what’s up?” Pierre said, plopping himself in the visitor’s chair with a grin. “Heard a rumor you met some hot babe on the train back to Paris Friday night. About time you stopped pining over your lady thief.”

“I’m not pining. And it was her.”

“Who?”

“Ciara.”

“
Non
, this was a redhead. Sounded like a princess, I hear. Sexy as... Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. Who ratted?”

“When I didn’t hear back after you jumped that train, I got worried. Called railroad security. They did a little investigating.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“Hey, what are friends for? So, um, anything? I assume you conducted a thorough search.” His grin broadened.

Jean-Marc gave him a withering glare, then sighed. “Nothing.” Head in hands, he leaned his elbows on the desk. “Pierre, I’m losing it. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going, she’s got me so twisted around. Why am I not seeing what she’s up to?”

Pierre clucked his tongue. “Emotions,
mon ami
. You are letting your emotions for the woman interfere with your usually logical policeman’s mind.”

He snorted. “You know me better than that.”

His partner gave him a sympathetic look. “I used to.”

“There’s never been a choice, here, Pierre. I’m a cop. First, formost and always.”

“You want to put her away again?”

“Have to, if she’s doing something illegal.”

“What if she’s not?”

“Give me a break.”

Pierre tipped his chair back and studied his fingers. “I don’t know.”

“Pierre,” Jean-Marc said, studying his friend just as intently. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

His partner swiped a hand over his face. “I’m not sure.”

“Spill, buddy.”

“It’s CoCo. She’s acting...different.”

“Like?”

“One minute she’s all sweet and happy. The next she’s a million miles away, looking like she’s wrestling with the weight of the world.”

Jean-Marc made a dismissive gesture. “Sounds like guilt to me.”

“Maybe. I’ve tried to get it out of her. But she just rolls on top of me and insists I’m imagining things. Very distracting.”

Jean-Marc didn’t like that image. Didn’t want to think of CoCo on top of Pierre. Because it conjured too-vivid, too-recent memories of Ciara.

He clenched his jaw. “Do you think we’re being played? Both of us?”

Pierre chuckled. “
Mec
, I think we’ve been way out of our league from day one.”

Jean-Marc winced. That was so true it wasn’t even funny. “No more, Pierre. It’s time to turn this bus around.”

“How?” his friend asked in an interested, if unconvinced, tone.

“Stop chasing after Ciara. Get in front of her instead. Predict her next move.”

“I thought that’s what we’ve been trying to do?”

“But in all the wrong ways. We need to go back. Do the same things we did the first time we caught her. We have enough information on her new behavior.” Jean-Marc stood and leaned over the desk, slamming his hands on the top. “Hell, Pierre, let’s do another profile.”

♥♥♥

Beck was furious when Ciara asked for another week on their deadline. Right up until she told him about the five million. That got his attention real quick.

“You’re offering me five
million
?
Euros
?” he asked incredulously.

“In unmarked diamonds.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

“To keep you away from Sofie. Permanently.” Ciara flexed her fingers, readying herself for his reaction. “Either take the diamonds and get out of France, or we’ll keep them ourselves and go where you’ll never find us. Your choice.”

Beck’s mouth flapped like a beached cod. Then his eyes narrowed. “You think I’ll fall for that bullshit? I’m no fucking idiot!”

She shrugged. “Fine. You don’t want five million in untraceable diamonds. You’ll get your ten thousand cash in a week, then. Look for it in a package mailed from Rio.” She turned on a toe, heading for the mouth of the grungy courtyard where they’d met.

“
Arrète
! Bitch!” She felt him lunge for her.

God, how she’d been waiting for that. She whipped the gun from her jacket pocket—a Sig Sauer 9mm 2022 borrowed from Valois specifically for this meeting—and jammed it into his forehead. His fist came to a screeching halt, mid-swing.

“Don’t. Even. Think. About it,” she growled.

His eyes bugged and his hands raised above his head. “You are a lunatic!”

“Are you telling or asking?” she sneered.

He backed off, arms held carefully out from his body. “I’m reconsidering.”

“Too late, asshole. I’ve decided you’re not worth five million. Think I’ll kill you instead.”

Sweat popped out around the red mark the gun barrel had pressed into his forehead. “A cop? In broad daylight in the middle of Paris? You’ll never get away with it.”

“Who said I’ll do it here?” she said. “I can wait. Until you least expect it. Then--” She aimed the gun at him and mouthed a silent, “Pow.”

“I’ll take the money,” he rushed to say, his voice hoarse with swallowed fear. “I’ll disappear. I swear.”

She laughed. And put the gun back in her pocket. “I thought you’d see it my way.”

“Where are you getting five million in diamonds?” he asked, his shoulders notching down slightly. Even scared shitless, his gaze had turned calculating.

She laughed again. So damned transparent. “You don’t want to know. This guy’s South American, a drug lord. He’ll slit your throat as soon as look at your ugly mug if you mess with his diamonds.”

“And yet, you’re willing to take the chance? Just for me?” Beck’s smarmy face wreathed in a smarmy smile. “I’m touched.”

She smiled through her teeth. “Nah. I’m hoping you’ll get greedy and pull something stupid, so he kills you. That way I’ll get your five million as well as my seven.”

That brought him up short. While he wallowed in speechlessness, she walked away. She had to physically restrain herself from laughing out loud.

Damn, she was good.

♥♥♥

Jean-Marc and Pierre had spent the morning working on their revised profile of Ciara, master thief and ex-con, trying to predict what she was planning next.

“Something’s changed with her,” Pierre said. “Something meaningful to her crimes. Today’s the last of the month and she hasn’t pulled a single job.”

“Which means paying the rent is no longer a motive.”

“So why is she still doing it? What’s driving her?”

“The reason is personal now. Compelling.”

Pierre nodded speculatively. “She wants the money for herself. To have her own life.”

“More likely Beck’s blackmail. He raped Sofie to show how serious he is.”

“That would be compelling.” Pierre shifted slightly. “Then there’s you, of course.”

Jean-Marc frowned. “Me? What do you mean?”

“Your relationship. Your pursuit of her. You, Jean-Marc, are bound to be a factor in Ciara’s change of criminal behavior.”

Jean-Marc stared, then laughed. “I seriously doubt it. Other than that she’s gotten a lot more devious, maybe.”

Pierre shrugged. “Which is a factor.”

“Granted,” he conceded, making a face. “Okay, so other than me, what do we have?”

Pierre held up one finger. “Motive? Likely Beck’s blackmail.”

Jean-Marc nodded. “I’ll go along with that.”

Pierre held up a second finger. “Means? Three trips to Marseille in the past weeks. That has to be significant.”

“Definitely. Unfortunately, what we don’t have is opportunity. Whatever she’s planning to steal, it’s got to be in the area around Marseille. But what to look for?”

“What would your profile say?” Pierre asked.

“Well, statistically,” Jean-Marc mused, “a person who has been to prison does one of two things. Give up crime, or escalate.”

“So,” reasoned Pierre, “since we don’t think she’s given it up, we should assume she’ll go for something bigger than before.”

“Right. The Picasso being the biggest. Well, the real Picasso, the one she meant to steal.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe this goes beyond Beck’s blackmail, after all. Surely, he can’t be asking that much.”

“Living expenses? Like before?” Pierre suggested. “Except maybe she wants to get it all done with one big job?”

Jean-Marc considered the idea. “The Orphans are all self-sufficient now, except for Davie. So, all right, maybe this
is
about her giving up crime. Sort of. One big job, then she quits?”

“Except Beck will never let that happen,” Pierre pointed out. “Not if she keeps paying his blackmail.”

Their gazes met and locked.

“
Merde, mec
,” Jean-Marc murmured, the hairs standing up on his arms. “She’s
not
going to kill him. She’s a thief, not a murderer. She won’t escalate
that
much.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“It would explain why CoCo goes pensive on me.”

“She’s
not
going to kill him,” Jean-Marc repeated vehemently.

“Okay, we’ll assume she’s not a murderer, she’s out to pay him off. Big. Judging by the Picasso, she’s comfortable going for over a million. So, what’s worth that much in Marseille?”

“Are you kidding?” Jean-Marc said, relieved that Pierre had dropped the murder thing. He could deal—just—with his lover being a thief and his prime suspect. But a murderer....
Merde
. He got to his feet, unable to sit any longer.

“The docks run by her in-laws are teeming with import-export stuff,” he suggested, pacing behind his desk. “And the whole region is dotted with ritzy houses filled to the rafters with pricy art and antiquities. Hell, the Riviera is just a stone’s throw away, too.”

“You mean the casinos?” Pierre looked amused. “You think she’s robbing a
casino
?” A lopsided grin curved his lips. “Ocean’s Six. I like it.”

“Don’t be an ass, Rousselot.”

“Well,” Pierre said, still grinning and watching him pace, “It’s a good bet she isn’t pulling anything in her own family’s territory, or anywhere she can catch flack from them. So we should rule out the docks,
non
?”

“Yeah. And unless she’s been secretly hanging around George Cluny while I wasn’t watching, I think we can rule out the casinos, too.”

“Cash really isn’t her style.”

Jean-Marc agreed. “Which only leaves a couple thousand potential targets.”

“All those ritzy homes, full of art and jewelry.”

“Not too many pieces can be worth over a million. Are you sure CoCo hasn’t let slip a hint? We could really use a clue here.”

Pierre shook his head. “No, but I’ll put the pressure on when I see her tonight.”

“
Non
. We don’t want her to tip off Ciara.”

“Then how do we figure out the target?”

After a moment, he said, “We search their apartment.”

Pierre’s brows shot up. “You think we’ll get a warrant based on pure conjecture? You’re dreaming,
mec
.”

Jean-Marc halted his pacing and looked his partner in the eye. And calmly murmured, “Who said anything about a warrant?”

Chapter 27

No time like the present, Jean-Marc decided.

He talked Pierre out of going along on the illegal search of the apartment. “If Belfort finds out, no sense in both of us losing our jobs.”

Being mid-afternoon, when Jean-Marc knocked on the Orphans’ door nobody was home. Just as he’d hoped. He showed the landlord his
carte
and the man let him into the apartment without a second thought.

Jean-Marc went through every room thoroughly, inch by inch. To his immense frustration, he found nothing useful.